


Little Red Book

by pocketmouse



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Epistolary, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-20
Updated: 2010-08-20
Packaged: 2017-10-11 04:32:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketmouse/pseuds/pocketmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy supposes traditionally she should've picked a black book, but then she's never been one for tradition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Red Book

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to tricksterquinn for looking this over for me! Written for the phonesex square for kink_bingo.

"Ah, Amy --" the Doctor coughs politely, to catch her attention. She looks up at him and smiles. He's red-faced, and his gaze is fixed at a point just over her shoulder. She can guess why even before he waves the book in his hand. "I found this in the sitting room. I believe it belongs to you?" He extends his hand, without moving any further into the room than the doorway.

Amy comes over to take the book from him, without more than a cursory glance to ensure it is the book she thinks it is. Journal, technically. "Thanks, Doctor. Hadn't realized I'd left it out." In a location where she was sure he would find it, and open to a specific page. She bites the inside of her lip and tries to look innocent.

Fortunately the Doctor isn't exactly paying attention. "Yes, well, I thought you might want it back. Ought to take more care with your things." He looks directly at her for a second, then blinks and looks away with another fake cough. "Right. Anyway, I have to go clean the kitchen. Again." He turns on his heel and practically runs down the corridor.

Amy smiles and drums her fingers on the book's cover. He's definitely read it then.

  
   


Amy and Rory are curled up together on one of the couches in the TARDIS's library. Rory has his feet up on an ottoman and Amy is sprawled the length of the couch, her head resting in his lap. Rory is looking at a 2339 edition of _Interplanetary Geographic_ when Amy lets out a long breath and sets her own book down, still open, against her chest.

"What did you do while you were waiting for the Pandorica to open?" she asks him quietly.

"Amy..." Rory's voice is equally soft, and reluctant. He's been stroking her hair with one hand, and it stills now.

"I saw what it said in the museum, but that was a legend, a story." She reaches up to touch his cheek. "What was it really like?"

"It was terrible," he says, unequivocally. "I missed you so much." He sets down his magazine, looking away. "I didn't do much, really. Tried to stay out of trouble, like the Doctor said. Shouted off people if they tried to get too close to you." He looks at her with shadows in his eyes. "Tried to keep you safe."

Amy smiles up at him. "You always do."

Rory smiles back, a little shaky. The room seems to brighten a little as he does so, the shadows falling away from his face. "I spent a lot of time talking to you." He shrugs a little. "Just little things, like the weather and what was happening that decade. What trouble the Doctor might be getting up to if he was around. Stupid stuff."

"It's not stupid. It's like your coma patients, yeah?" She wrinkles her nose a little, sitting up. "Though I don't know how much being in there was like being in a coma. I don't remember any of it," she says apologetically. "But I'm glad you were there." She kisses him on the lips, soft, lingering.

Rory withdraws reluctantly, his hand ghosting up and down her side. "I wrote to you too, sometimes. I could pretend that I'd been sent away on a long mission, or you were traveling. That you'd be back soon." He kisses her again.

"You wrote me letters?" Amy grins. "That's so sweet."

Rory's cheeks flush. "It wasn't really --"

Amy gasps, cutting him off. "Wait, did you write me _love letters_? I don't believe it!" She slaps his chest.

"They weren't really -- I'm not that good a writer," he tries again. "They weren't elegant or --"

Amy laughs, sliding forward into Rory's lap. "Oh my god, you wrote me porn! You, mister 'Amy, why do you want me to do dirty talk' wrote me porn!"

Rory groans and hides his face against her chest. "It was really terrible porn."

Amy kisses him and rocks forward a little, sliding one hand under Rory's shirt. "Then you'll just have to practice more, won't you?"

  
   


_July 31 --_

_Rory and I went exploring in the TARDIS today. I'd tried to take him on a tour when he first came onboard, but we ended up in the kitchen about five times, so we gave up, and had lunch instead. Oh, and I never did get around to asking the Doctor why the TARDIS hadn't translated all the labels on the food in the fridge. Not that all of it even _had_ labels._

_No kitchens today, though. And I still haven't found the swimming pool. When I mentioned it to Rory, he said it was just as well, seeing as neither of us had a bathing suit. I'm sure he'd just forgotten about the wardrobe, but the look I gave him made him turn bright red. I love doing that to him._

_We found a laboratory of some sort, though I don't think it'd been used in a while, a room from an art gallery that only held empty picture frames, and two linen closets. There was also a room that went outside. That's the best way to describe it, I guess. I opened the door and on the other side was a grassy hillside, the whole night sky opened up above. There was even a breeze, and it felt just like a quiet night back home._

_And, well, the best thing to do on a quiet night back home was to make out with Rory. ~~Even~~ Especially on a nice night outdoors. I guess we got a bit carried away, because we didn't just make out. But the air was so nice and the grass felt so cool against my skin. I think we forgot we were even on the TARDIS. Rory's just that good with his hands. And his mouth -- Mmmmmmm. He can eat me out whenever he wants._

  
   


"Rooooory!" Amy calls, her voice bouncing off the walls of the TARDIS, "Come wash my back for me!"

Faintly Rory can hear water. He tries to keep his eyes fixed on the panel in front of him, but he gives up after Amy calls his name a second time, and he looks up at the ceiling. He's never spotted any speakers. "Amy, you realize the ship's comms broadcast to the whole room, right?" He glances to his left, where the Doctor has ducked under the console.

"Yeah, I thought you were in our room. Hullo, Doctor!" Amy's cheerfulness doesn't waver a bit. "Would _you_ like to wash my back, since my _husband_ seems uninterested at the moment?"

There's a thud from under the console, and a metallic clank, then quiet for a moment. "Ah, no, that's all right, Amy," the Doctor speaks, sounding a bit strained. "I've got some, er, repairs to do down here, tricky work, could be a while."

"Oh," Amy's mock disappointment is evident. Rory watches the way the Doctor's feet twitch. "Sounds like dirty work. Let us know if you need a hand."

Rory crouches down so he can see underneath the panel. The Doctor is staring blankly at a handful of wires he's disconnected. "Erm, I think that's the steering system, not the comms," Rory says.

The Doctor licks his lips, gaze not wavering. "Yes. You're probably right." He doesn't move.

"I hope you had those labeled," Rory says after a moment.

"Me too."

  
   


_August 12 --_

_Amy ambushed me in the kitchen again. It was the same one, though, the one with the avocado-green fridge and decor straight out of the seventies. The other kitchens are for sandwiches, this one's apparently for sex. And smoothies. It's the only one with a blender._

_I mean, it's not like I'm objecting. We had sandwiches later._

_It is fun, though. Having sex with Amy. She's all inventive and -- well, it's fun. It's exciting, and it's not like back in Leadworth, where I was afraid of what might happen if we got caught doing it in the store room at the pub or someplace. Here I wouldn't really mind if we got caught._

  
   


Rory shuts the book with a frustrated breath, and for a moment Amy's sure he's going to throw it or the pen in his hand across the room. "I can't do this," he says instead.

"Do what?"

"Write in this." He waves the book at her. "I can't -- I'm no good at things like this." He flops back on the bed, defeated.

Amy takes the book from his limp fingers and flips through the pages. She can't help but laugh a little. "I've seen you write better than this." She sets the book aside. "What's really the problem? Hm?" She brushes her fingers through his hair gently, mussing it up, throwing it into wild spikes.

Rory's quiet for a moment, tense. "The Doctor's going to see it," he mumbles at last.

"Well that's the point," Amy says.

"Exactly. He's going to read that and see I'm rubbish."

"No he's not," Amy says, sure of herself. She slings one leg over Rory's chest, planting herself square against his hips. "He's met you, hasn't he? And he likes you, he's said so. You're not going to be able to change that."

"But what if --"

Amy presses a finger to his lips. "But nothing. It'll work. You'll see."

Rory nips at her finger, then sucks it into his mouth. Amy watches him, fascinated. "Maybe we should've tried a video diary," she manages to gasp before her breath is stolen entirely.

  
   


The book is slim, only about 100 pages of blank lined paper inside. It's small enough to fit inside a purse, or maybe a jacket pocket if you don't mind the hard corners. Amy supposes traditionally she should've picked a black book, but then she's never been one for tradition. And she's seen River's, blue and styled to look like the TARDIS. The red leather of this one suits her taste well, and Rory's always said red makes him think of her.

They've already filled the first twenty pages or so. Mostly in Amy's rounded, sliding handwriting, letters bumping up against one another in an almost-cursive; but there are a handful of entries in Rory's narrower, sloppy penmanship. Amy likes rereading Rory's entries better than her own. Oh, she loves writing them, it's fun to think up just the right word or phrase. But to see what Rory's written about her, printed on the page in black and white, it does something funny to her stomach every time. It's more real than speech or action, in some ways; it's there when she comes back to it again, the ink never goes away, like a tattoo beneath her skin.

Part of her thinks she's tempting fate to leave the book out, even though that's the whole point. She's not worried about the Doctor throwing them off the ship, or even being awkward around them. The Doctor couldn't hold onto that kind of awkward for more than about five minutes before he'd say something unintentionally innuendo-filled and not even get it when she pointed it out to him. But she's worried that they'll fall too far, too fast.

She doesn't expect the Doctor to stick around forever. She doesn't want to depend on him like she does on Rory.

  
   


_August 27 --_

_I want to do it in the control room. Right up against one of the consoles. Or maybe in the chair. Or both. And all over the floor, probably. The chair doesn't feel like it could handle even two people. But right there in that room, with the way the TARDIS rocks and vibrates, I never feel more alive than I do in there._

_Rory would apparently rather we do it in one of the bedrooms. I know he's not getting tired of any of the more ~~fu~~ interesting locations around, but he is a romantic at heart. And beds do have their advantages. You don't have to take your socks off, for one. And there's less chance of bumping into something important, or hitting a sharp corner. But then, that's part of the fun of having sex out in the open. And I'm sure the Doctor would make sure we didn't hit any switches that were too important._

_There we go. Russian roulette piloting via console sex. Definitely worth testing out._

  
   


Rory is relaxing in the pool with a book when the Doctor pads into the room quietly. He freezes when he sees Rory on the float in the far end of the Olympic-length pool.

"It's all right," Rory says, gesturing to the book, "I picked one of the waterproof ones." The set of the Doctor's shoulders relaxes a little, and Rory turns back to the alien novel. He knows it's not the threat of water damage that made the Doctor hesitate, it's the color of the cover.

Rory watches the Doctor over the top of the pages of his book. He cuts through the water easily, hardly rocking the surface. If Rory wasn't watching him, he'd hardly even know there was anyone else there. It's strange to think of the Doctor as unnoticed, but then again it sort of makes sense, the way in the end there's no way to say he was there. Even if he splashed about, the water on the deck would evaporate, the ripples would disappear and the water would return to stillness.

Rory gives in and abandons the book entirely to just watch the Doctor. The Doctor doesn't notice at first, but after a while his strokes slow, and the next time he hits the wall, he doesn't surface on his turn until he pops up next to Rory. The water parts silently as if the Doctor was himself liquid.

"Rory..." The Doctor is hesitant. Water drips onto the raft where the Doctor's fingers curl around it, sliding down the plastic to rest against Rory's leg.

Another drop slides down, tearing itself apart into smaller and smaller droplets, and Rory sighs. "You didn't read the whole thing, did you?" The Doctor's head jerks up to look at him, surprised. Rory's lips twitch in a small smile. The Doctor can be thick sometimes, apparently. He hadn't thought Amy was right about that. "There's more than one kind of adventure, Doctor." He reaches out to slide a lock of hair off the Doctor's forehead. "You're not going to leave a toppled government or a smoking crater of a building in your wake here. We won't let you."

The Doctor blinks at him. "You don't understand."

"I've had Amy in my life since I was eight. I think I do. Go read the rest of it." He raises an eyebrow. "If you're so unwilling to even talk about it."

It's impossible to make a dignified exit from a raft in the middle of a pool, but the Doctor doesn't say anything, so Rory sort of manages anyway.

  
   


_September 2 --_

_I'm no good at writing these things down, I always feel like I pick the wrong words, can't say what I really mean. But I'm not much better at showing, really. Or doing. Still._

_Sometimes I wonder to myself why I came here. Traveling through time and space isn't the first thing that comes to mind for me on a list of things to do when I'm not working. I mean, I came for Amy, mostly. And because I don't like being left behind, or ignored. Hate that. But I don't _dis_like it. I am having fun. I just would never think of it own my own, never _ask_ on my own._

_We spent last week in prehistoric Helsinki, trying to avoid being eaten by a volcano, and I think my biggest worry was whether my clothes were going to make it out all right. And us in them, as well, but not like I would've been a few months ago. I had instructors who used to think I'd never be able to manage a major accident with multiple casualties. They'd change their minds if they could see me now._

_And that's nice. But not as nice as the part where I'm not worried when Amy makes a joke about skinny-dipping, or goes off with the Doctor or the head consul to do something important and fiddly. I like that they both know me, really me. And I like being here, with both of them._

_Amy wants me to write about sex. But she knows I'm rubbish at that. So I'm just going to keep doing what I've been doing, which is writing about the people I love._

  
   


The Doctor is quieter than he usually is. Not subdued, just -- quieter. Like he's determined not to talk to them, but there's nobody else around, and he keeps forgetting, and snapping his mouth shut at the last second. Amy's surprised he hasn't just popped them out of the vortex at random, just to have a distraction.

And he keeps looking at them. When he thinks they're not looking, she'll see him, out of the corner of her eye or over Rory's shoulder, studying them, as if they were some broken machinery or alien species he's never met. When she asks him what's wrong, he doesn't really reply, just mumbles that he's preoccupied. She shoots Rory a glance. Preoccupied with what, she can guess.

Amy's about five seconds from making a grab for the phone and trying to dial River -- any River, she doesn't care which River -- and Rory can obviously sense this, because he bundles her off to one of the food kitchens and makes her a cup of tea. Amy taps her fingers restlessly against the formica counter as she recalls the way the Doctor watched them leave with a look of trepidation across his features.

She worries the strings of Rory's hoodie as they talk, and in the end she tucks the loose piece of paper into the journal like a bookmark and leaves it on the counter when they go to bed. The TARDIS will make sure the Doctor finds it.

_We're not going to leave if you say no._

He doesn't say anything the next morning.

  
   


Amy and Rory are together when he finds them. They always are, these days, it feels like. Not like the early days when it was Rory trailing after Amy or her pushing him along. Now they just are, like one unit. Covalent bonds. They found each other, settled out, without his help, despite his help, and he's loath to disturb that. Sometimes he doesn't know what they see in him.

He tilts his head. Sometimes he forgets that there was a time when it wouldn't even have occurred to him to tell them no.

Is he getting wiser in his old age, or more foolish? There are plenty of people in his past who say he's never been wise, always been foolish.

Always led with his hearts.

They didn't look up until he collapsed into the pile of cushions opposite their couch. His back on the floor, he put his feet up on the arm of the couch, where they kicked against Rory's companionably. Rory kicks back, Newton's Third Law in action.

"If you could do one thing over in your life, what would it be?" he asked, without preamble.

"I wouldn't try to make friends with Tricia Welling in third form," Amy says decisively. "She's a terrible person."

"Amy --" he starts.

"She is," Rory says. "Nearly broke Amy's arm during PE. On purpose." The Doctor gives in. This isn't going where he'd thought it would.

"I pushed her in the mud, though, and she works for Harwood's now, so it's all right," Amy says decisively. "But still. Rory, your turn."

Rory tips his head up, thinking for a moment. "I'd try and actually convince myself that it wasn't my fault my parents got divorced." Amy punches Rory in the shoulder, but doesn't say anything. Rory flicks her ear. "Though then again, then I wouldn't have had an excuse to go to a psychiatrist."

The Doctor raises an eyebrow at that. "Please tell me you didn't bite them too."

Rory shakes his head. "I had braces, I wasn't allowed." He grins. "I think maybe I'd do over breaking up with Jeff. I was a right twat about that, wasn't I?"

"Yeah, you were," Amy says unsympathetically. The Doctor finds himself wondering how these two actually ended up together, when Rory starts tickling Amy's ribs viciously, and she curls up in a ball, kicking and shrieking like a teakettle.

Neither of them ask what he'd do over.

He doesn't offer.

  
   


_Tuesday. Noonish --_

_I hope they didn't mean this sleeping together thing literally, because humans sleep quite a lot; I'd forgotten how much. I don't know how they can stand it. Then again, I don't know how they can stand linear time, or daytime telly. So. I've been awake for about an hour, and already I've turned the back three pages of this sex-journal-thing into crossword puzzles worthy of the Sunday Times (using only sexual innuendoes), made a list of places and positions to try out around the TARDIS, though really I'd be happy with the oral sex and the frottage and foreplay, especially the foreplay._

_Also, I should move the blender and all the food except for the peanut butter out of the Third Kitchen._

_Preferably yesterday._


End file.
